Forgotten Tales of Old
by xxXTheySayI'mEvilXxx
Summary: They tell of Hercules, his many adventures, his great feats, and how he became a wonderful hero. They tell of his godhood, of his ineffable greatness. They certainly don't tell about his children. (Or: Hercules has a child, so I wrote a thing.)


Herakles The Second, or Hercules II, as the Romans decreed, was one of many children.

He was the second eldest of six (five, sources claim, but he will get to that.) Therimachus, Ophites, Deicoon, Deioneus, and Creontiades. His darling brothers.

Theri, at age 14, was a beautiful young boy, inherited all his mother's good looks and blessed with all of Athena's smarts. Smart as a whip, people say now. You couldn't not find him tucked away in any little corner reading away, and taught everyone else their letters. He aimed to be a scholar, to learn under Athena and spend his days learning. (Father scoffed at that, and Theri never payed attention.)

Ophi, only 12, was a quiet boy, never said much—only what needed to be said. Though born as Ophelia, he inherited his father's strength and easily outmatched his brothers. He was kind, too, so so kind. When he played discus with Theri and they both fell, he carried the older back with scraped knees and bruised ribs. He always pretended to be surprised at the twins pranks, even when they were bad.

Deicoon and Deioneus, the youngest of the batch at age 8, were mischievous twins that liked pulling harmless pranks. Mother swore that she had pleased Hermes and he gave her the twins instead of Father. The twins were always quick with sharp comebacks and silly jokes, tossing all of their family's clothing out the window so they had to run around in the nude until they found them.

Creo...Herakles didn't like talking about. He was 19, very much a man and very much terrible. He always got angry at Father who pleaded him to stay, talked about Mother behind her back, amongst other things. One time, he brought home a soldier and the next day both were gone. Creontiades didn't come back for a year, and that was after a man brought him back—dead. The very soldier he ran off with had killed him—turning out to be on the other side of the war.

They never really held any sort of funeral, he was just a troubled boy that always got in fights with his family that left to many scars (physical and mental).

Nevertheless, he loved his siblings. Reading books with Theri, playing in the yard with Ophi, letting the twins trip him with sticks and tangle his hair.

They were a happy family for a good while, until _it _happened.

Herakles recalled the day. It was warm and sunny—springtime, for the trees were green so Persephone could not be in the Underworld, but it wasn't tediously hot either.

It was a normal day, until nightfall. He was told that Hera bestowed the madness upon his father, and he couldn't hate the goddess more if that were true.

It was the night his father, the almighty Hercules, killed his mother and siblings.

Herakles was hiding in the stables, his siblings tightly wrapped around him.

The scene that corrupted their minds played in their head moments ago. Hercules lifting up Megara with ease and snapping her neck in seconds, dropping her limp body on the floor and he sneered as the blood spread. Herakles scrambled into hiding with the others.

All the siblings trembled, Ophites and Deicoon had tears running down their faces but were silenced by a hand over their mouth. Herakles, Therimachus, and Deioneus prayed harshly, spluttering out as many mental prayers as they could to any deity that could hear them.

No one answered.

Herakles tightened his grip around his siblings, Deicoon burying himself in his brother's chest as Theri held Ophi and Deioneus close. "We'll be okay, the gods will save us," Herakles whispered oh so softly, in fear their father might hear them. "They will help us."

"But Mommy..." Deioneus whimpered back. Herakles cooed to him and tried to keep him quiet.

"Mother is Elysium now, happy and safe and waiting for us... but not too soon now, alright?" Herakles was proud of himself for not collapsing and sobbing.

Therimachus glanced at his older sibling, the only one who could probably guess the uncertainty in his voice. "We'll be okay," he echoed to his brothers.

It was probably five hours in the stables, if Herakles had to guess. Artemis's chariot was further in the sky, and he prayed to her, begging. Even if she didn't like boys, at least his siblings were too young to being wooing girls. They could be trusted.

Artemis didn't think so.

They could hear their father lumbering around, like he was drunk, muttering and shaking and clenching his fists. He punched a tree. Lightning crackled above to drown out the children's noises. Herakles thanked Zeus, mouthing his prayer.

Zeus didn't do anything more.

"Boys," their father called out in a sickly sweet voice. Herakles tensed, inhaling sharply and turning to the back of the stall. He placed as many cloths and quits over his siblings and hid them behind the hay bales. He asked Ares for a bout of courage, a bit of adrenaline to help fight off his father.

Ares didn't hear.

"It's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry, your mother was annoying, you know," their father continued, and Herakles clenched his fists. _Please, anyone, _he begged. Maybe Hestia or Hades, kinder merciful gods that would help? He prayed to them, whispering. He couldn't give any offerings, just prayers.

Hestia and Hades didn't think it was enough.

Herakles saw his father's shadow and tucked himself behind the bales with his siblings who were shaking. Maybe Demeter would help, not letting another child succumb to the darkness of the Underworld. Or Apollo, protected little boys. He prayed frantically, needfully.

Apollo and Demeter didn't like how selfish he was.

The stable door swung open, and in one last desperate attempt, Herakles reached out to every single deity he could think of. Please please please please, he screamed mentally.

Those gods didn't like that he didn't think of them as important.

The hay bales and cloths were ripped away and the siblings screamed, their fathers blood-splattered chiton and his scary face... it wasn't the face of _Hercules, _the hero. It was the face of a mad-infused man.

Ophites stood up on shaky legs, looking back at his siblings before running forward and punching his father in the knees. The man's face crumpled and he howled in pain, Ophites pushing the man away from his siblings.

Herakles lunged forward to try and grab his brother as Hercules reached out and arm but was too late. Ophites tried to kick his father away but the hand wrapped around his throat was so so _tight_.

In seconds, his windpipes were crushed, and Hercules scoffed. "You'd never make a good son," he whispered, throwing the boy to the floor and watching the ground crack under the force.

Therimachus sobbed, and Herakles tried again to bat away his father's hand but Therimachus was grabbed and swung over his shoulder, his other hand grabbing the twins that Herakles didn't think to pay attention to. Theri pounded his father's back but he didn't have the strength, couldn't do much except scream and try and twist away, the twins trying to run.

Herakles tripped over his feet following his father, begging and pleading him—no no please don't do this please please _please._

They stood near the hearth, Hercules's face shining beside it. He turned to the twins—and grabbing a knife before they could run—stabbed them through the heart and watched them try to form words before collapsing on the ground.

Herakles tried to move but he was frozen, Therimachus trying to get away, but couldn't get away from Hercules's stone-cold grip. Herakles watched with tears in his eyes as a monster slit Theri's throat and threw him in the fire, like burning the books he adored so much. Theri clutched his throat, looking at Herakles. _Run, _he mouthed before he fell limply, dead.

Hercules turned towards his second eldest who was stuck. _Run. Run run run run. _Before the monster could grab him, Herakles turned on his tail and _ran._

_Hermes, give me speed, _he asked. And for the first time, a god listened.

* * *

He didn't know how long or how fast he ran, he just knew it was until Apollo peeked over the edge of the earth and the sky turned and ugly red (like his siblings blood). He collapsed under a tree, eyes puffy and dry—he couldn't cry any more. Wind turned his face sore, and his chiton was ragged and had spots of blood on it.

There was a dryad who tiptoed near him, making soft sounds as he sobbed. She darted forward and patted his head before zipping back. He appreciated that, later on.

His throat was raw and he felt sick from all the crying, leaning against the tree in exhaustion.

Why did he live, when his siblings were killed? It wasn't fair... it wasn't...

Herakles felt sluggish, tired and wanted to sleep. No, he couldn't! He had to...

His eyes fluttered, shapes moving around him, one drew closer. "I am sorry, young one, I could not interfere, less _she _find out." The voice was smooth, borderlining between feminine and masculine, deep but soft.

"Please... my siblings," Herakles choked out, unsure what to add on. Who was this? He did not know.

"They are safe in Elysium. Hades is not merciless, I promise that," the voice assured.

The sleepiness clawed at Herakles further, eyes nearly fully shut.

"Sleep now, child, you will wake and everything will be alright."

Herakles eyes slipped closed, and he found himself in a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"_Hey, hey Rip Van Winkle, wake up_!" Someone was shaking him.

Herakles opened his eyes slowly, blearily blinking around. He looked around from his brace on the... not-tree? He was lying down, and moss and dirt covering him. A tree was a few inches from him, whiter than the one he fell asleep against.

He was surrounded by a lot of people. Seven. A boy a few years older than him is waving in his face.

"_Hey, do you understand me_?"

Herakles didn't. The boy tilted his head carefully, forehead creased. "Can you understand me?"

Herakles jolted upright, and immediately two men raced towards him. "Where... where am I?" He looked around frantically, before settling on the men's funny clothes. "What are those?" He couldn't be in Egypt, perhaps somewhere further west? Or east? Directions were confusing.

"You're in the twenty-first century, bud," the boy laughed. "Still in Greece, don't worry. You haven't move in thousands of years. It's a wonder you're not thin as a stick—even more that you're not bones."

Herakles tried to stand up, but found he could only put weight on his hands. "Hey, calm down, you suffered some muscle mass loss. Time travel the long way isn't fun."

He doesn't had much of an idea what the other is saying.

"Alrighty then, let's see if Zeus is willing to help."

No, no no no _no. _Zeus _cannot see him. _If Zeus sees, then he'll _know _that he's alive, and whichever god decided to kill his family will _know_.

He tries to thrash against the people. "No!" he screeched.

"Okay, calm down! No Zeus then!"

He already _saw_, Zeus already _knew, _Herakles hyperventilated.

"Get him in an ambulance, now!" One of the men yelled and he saw black dots in his vision. He pushed that aside as he was lifted onto something and his vision was contained by something silver. Loud noises assisted his ear and he shrieked.

"We should get him to an Auradon hospital. They're better with magic stuff and we can probably figure out who he is," one of the men said, and a noise of affirmation agreed from _somewhere._

His eyes darted around frantically. Where was he? What was this? A moving temple? He didn't know.

"He's hyperventilating again, should I give a sedative?"

What was that? A poison?

Something sharp jabbed his skin, and he tried to fight against it. They were poisoning him! He knew it!

Unwillingly, his muscles relaxed. _This is how they kill me, paralyzed? _he thinks. It's not a very heroic way at all.

"That should have sent him to sleep," one person says, horrified.

Herakles is sluggish now, eyes slowly moving around. "He's probably a demigod," another voice counteracts, "it's fine, he's calm enough anyway."

They wheel him to a large building (a healing temple?) and suddenly other people are dragging him into a room, with foreign objects probing him. If it weren't for that poison, he'd probably have knocked down the building by now.

"Definitely a demigod," one healer says, holding up his blood sample which is red mortal blood and spots of golden ichor, "first generation, if I had to guess."

That's not right, Herakles struggles and tries to think. His fathe—that man was mortal, right?

He pulls and snaps the straps holding him down, and it flies across the room. "Lemme go!" he yells, words slurred a bit.

"Okay, kiddo, it's okay, relax. Can you tell me your name?" A healer soothes.

Herakles frowns. Gods, he doesn't want them to know he's related to _that monster. _Nevertheless, he tells them that.

"Okay, Hercules's kid. He's probably gonna whoop our butts for this."

"He's not... dead?" The demigod asks softly, fists clenching.

The healer looks at him curiously. "Kid... he's a god, how would he die?"

No, no no no no _no! He was supposed to be dead. He should have died and went to Tartarus for everything... everything that he did! Why?!_

"Everyone stand back, please. The king is here."

King? _King Zeus? _No... not now!

He can't have that god here, he'll die and go to Asphodel and never see his siblings again, he won't see Ophi and Theri and the twins and Mother!

He has to see them!

Tears streak down his cheeks and he blubbers—pathetically, the little voice in his head whispers.

Zeus can't take his family away from him!

He struggled, eyes darting towards the man.

"Hello, Herakles," the man says softly, and oh, that's not Zeus, "I'm Adam, I'm here to help."

He blinks a couple times, trying to comprehend things. Not Zeus? Not Zeus. Zeus isn't here. Zeus isn't here so he still has a _chance. _He can still see them again.

Suddenly something pangs in him as he replays the words in his mind. That name, that name he can't stand. He doesn't want to hear it again.

"Not... Herakles," He finally manages.

Adam tilts his head. "Oh? Do you go by a nickname? Herkie? Kles?"

The boy shakes his head. "I don't know, but not Herakles."

He won't ever use that man's name again (even if in the future people call him "Herkie"). He won't use the man's name that killed his mother. He won't use the man's name that killed his siblings. He won't use the man's name that cheated his own fate in Tartarus. He won't use the man's name who became a god, who was given unfair mercy.

He won't use that man's name, and he doesn't know what name he'll take.

But it will be something better.


End file.
